


The Final Chapter

by S_G_M



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Baby, Death, Gen, Lesbians, Murder, Mystery, Pregnancy, Siblings, St. Bart's, Suicide, familial tension, morgue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_G_M/pseuds/S_G_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock stumbles upon the bodies of two teenagers in a warehouse, it is the beginning of something that Sherlock could never have seen coming.  An end is imminent, but will it be his?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Final Chapter

As wind howled mournfully through the trees on a cool, grey July day, Sherlock Holmes bent over to examine the body of a middle-class, 24-year-old man which lay on the damp pavement outside of a shoe shop.  
There were no outward signs of physical trauma that Sherlock could locate, as Greg Lestrade and John Watson looked on.  
In fact, the victim had appeared to have been in optimal health.  
"Anything?" Lestrade asked, as Sherlock stood up and turned his gaze to the detective inspector.  
"Cause of death was asphyxiation." Sherlock informed him plainly, removing his gloves and wrapping one inside the other for safety's sake. "Going by the vague scent of it, I would say that chlorine was the murderer's chemical of choice."  
Lestrade frowned.  
"Chlorine?" He repeated thoughtfully, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked down at the body. "It's become a sort of suicide fad for teens, young adults; started from some internet video, now kids are finding different ways to kill themselves with the stuff."  
Sherlock didn't even blink as he stared at Lestrade, veiled annoyance lurking beneath his dauntingly calm exterior.  
"I am aware." He replied, as John took a swallow of his cup of coffee to help warm himself. "However, this wasn't a suicide, nor were the two teens found in the abandoned Derrings warehouse last Thursday."  
Sherlock had ended up stumbling upon the bodies himself while on another case, and had determined the deaths to be murder then and there, not that the arriving officers would take his word for it.  
Lestrade recalled another time where Sherlock had disagreed with him on what he'd considered to be 'serial suicides'.  
Naturally, Sherlock had turned out to be correct. Of course, he had.

"All right, say that you're right. Which, you probably are. Explain to me what makes you so sure that these are murders." Lestrade implored, wanting to be able to see what it was that Sherlock could.  
Sherlock straightened up a bit, perking at the chance to verbally list the reasons just why Lestrade was wrong.  
"It would be highly unlikely that an individual that has used chlorine to end their existence would take the time to clean up evidence of the chemical with a lemon juice mixture, for one. Not that they would be capable of such an action." Sherlock began, explaining how citric acid will more or less neutralise the odour, before going on to point out to Lestrade other seemingly obvious signs of murder.  
"Lastly, there's the one thing I would expect even the more incompetent members of the local police force to notice." Sherlock stated, wondering how on earth nobody had noticed it yet.  
He waited a moment, giving Lestrade a chance to prove that he wasn't oblivious to the glaring clue.  
"Well?" Lestrade prompted, not enjoying his failures being shown to him in this way.  
He did his best, but apparently that would never be good enough for the consulting detective; it wasn't Lestrade's fault that his skills could never be as honed as Sherlock's. He was only an average man, after all.  
He could only do so much, no matter how much he might regret that.

Sherlock sighed.  
"The buttons!" He said a little more emphatically, gesturing with his big hands, wondering how the items had gone unnoticed for what they were. "Each of the three victims wore a small, round copper button an inch to the left of their shirt collar."  
Lestrade hadn't been at the original crime scene, but had gone over the reports and photos once the case had been passed to him, which was why he'd gotten this one, too.  
The buttons hadn't seemed that important at the time, and he'd thought it likely enough that the teens had been close friends and had bought matching buttons.  
It hadn't even registered that the button on this young man's shirt perfectly matched the two from the first crime scene.  
As understanding registered on his face, Sherlock knew that he would get his way.  
He knew that Lestrade now fully believed him and would permit him to continue his work on the case as he would have done anyway.  
"Exactly." Sherlock said, John taking a closer look at the button.  
It wasn't that noteworthy, being rather nondescript; it was only a plain circle of polished copper.  
No inscriptions, no engravings whatsoever. Not even a hint of a scratch.  
"And, the first two were the same? Just copper?" John asked, curious as to why the killer had chosen such an obscure calling card.  
"From what we can tell, yeah." Lestrade replied, as a constable came up to briefly ask a few questions before leaving. "Nothing stood out about the buttons. Nothing stood out about the scene, really. Looked to be your run of the mill double suicide."  
Sherlock would have liked to have said something to the effect of the only reason that many of the police caught perpetrators must have been through blind, dumb luck.  
But, Lestrade was a friend, after all. And, so he kept this to himself.  
And, with that, the corpse was hauled away to St. Bart's morgue, where John and Sherlock would examine it further.

 

Molly was in an even cheerier mood than usual as she puttered about the morgue.  
Sherlock had waited for Molly to complete the usual examinations, before delving in himself.  
John gave her a smile, which she had returned easily.  
"Only another month and a half. Are you ready?" He asked, as Molly sat down on a padded chair that had been brought in last week for her to use as she filled out paperwork.  
She grinned wider, although there was a hint of nervousness in her demeanour.  
"Oh, I think so." Molly answered, leaning against the back of the chair. "Everything's all set up; the crib, the wallpaper, the changing area, all the bits and bobs have been purchased... Ready and raring to go, I'd say!"  
John nodded.  
"Right, but aside from that, how about you?" He asked kindly, knowing how stressed she ust be.  
It was her first baby and all, so that was to be expected.

As Molly opened her mouth to say reply, she was cut off by Sherlock's request for a smaller scalpel.  
John rolled his eyes.  
"Honestly, Sherlock, you can walk four and a half feet, can't you?" He asked in partial annoyance, choosing to indulge Sherlock by bringing the tool to him.  
"Thank you." Sherlock told him, ignoring his words as he went back to work.  
John shook his head, used to this sort of thing.  
Sherlock really could be quite lazy.  
He turned his attention back to Molly, who shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  
She never had been very good at talking about herself, and everybody and their mothers seemed to want to know how she was doing lately.  
It was exhausting!  
"I'm okay." She said simply, wanting to change the topic. "And, how about you? You must be excited, with your sister's wedding coming up soon."  
John shook his head.  
"Um, right... I'm sure it'll be a lovely service." He said more tightly than he'd meant to.  
Molly raised an eyebrow.  
"You don't like her, do you?" Molly asked, knowing how hard it could be to have a sister-in-law that it's tough to get on with.  
"I wouldn't know, I haven't met the woman." John confessed. "Harry and I have decided it would be for the best if I didn't attend. Which is fine, we've never been on great terms, anyway."  
Molly clicked her tongue. "That's too bad." She said, thinking that it was awful.  
John shrugged. "It's nothing, really." He said dismissively.  
"When you two are quite finished, I could use another set of hands." Sherlock interjected, peering at an interesting item sitting in the man's right lung.

 

"What on earth?" John asked, staring at the sizable half-dissolved pellet that Sherlock had pulled out of the lung and placed under a microscope.  
After a few moment's study, Sherlock realised what the whitish compound was.  
"Ricin; a highly toxic, naturally occurring lectin produced in the seeds of the castor oil plant, Ricinus communis. A powdered purified dose the size of a few grains of table salt can kill an adult human." He explained, as Molly listened closely.  
"Why so much, then?" Molly asked, thinking that whoever had killed this guy must have really wanted him dead. "And, why asphyxiate him, too?"  
Sherlock looked pensive. "I don't know." He answered, the combination of methods not making sense.  
He broke the pellet up, another surprise waiting for him at its core; a tiny silver crown.


End file.
